Our Memory Will Never Fade
by The Most Humble Bee
Summary: Camlann, Wales - 1969 A warlock, a detective, and the memory of a once and future king. (WARNINGS: includes depression, mentions of suicide, graphic depictions of violence, drugs, past major character death, and homosexuality)
1. Prologue

Two figures lay in a grassy field. One holding the other in his arms. He weeps as his friend is dying. He begs-pleads for him to stay. He tells him everything will be alright. But then, his friend touches his head, a sad smile upon his face as he whispers a final:

"Thank you..."

And then he was gone.

The young man, all alone now, let out a startling cry as he held the corpse of his dear friend. His eyes glowed gold and nature responded to his grief. He cursed the world, he cursed this destiny of his. His pain never ceased as he gently laid his friend into a boat, standing on the shore of the lake called Avalon. With a final sob and a whispered spell, the boat sailed itself forward and towards the Isle of the Blessed.

Years, even centuries, passed and the young man never dared to travel far from the lake of Avalon. Sometimes, you may see him as a lonely man standing by the shore or an old man walking down the road. He'll never stop waiting. Even when his home has fallen, even when the trees are cut and are replaced with buildings that scrape the sky. Even when wars are fought and bombs are dropped and alliances are made. He will wait forever if he has to.

And who is this young man, you wonder? Well, he is the one and only... Merlin.

JANUARY 5TH, 1969 - LOS ANGELES AIRPORT

A man with a black fedora and matching trench coat pulled his luggage onto the plane. He's 25 and inexperienced. He had only recently joined the investigative career. Last year, he had been temporarily assigned to the MLK assassination case in Memphis before he was signed up to be transferred to international cases. There had been no word of any case elsewhere until there were several homicides committed including three Americans and he had been immediately moved to go undercover in Wales. His name is Detective Michael Jones, and little did he know that he'd become a good friend of the greatest sorcerer the world has ever seen.


	2. Chapter 1

JANUARY 6TH, 1969 - CAMLANN, WALES

It was a misty and cold morn when Merlin emerged from his small home. He had tried his best to tidy it up as much as he could when he heard that he was to be serving as the host for some American tourist or something. Merlin had considered disguising himself as an old man again, but the more often he used his magic, he felt a pang of sadness within him when he was reminded of who he couldn't save with it. The warlock ran a pale hand through his dark hair, combing it back with his fingers. The memory was still clear in his mind and he never tried to forget. With a sigh, Merlin wandered up to the main road which lay above the town he lived in. Once there, he hailed a cab and got a ride to the harbor where he would be picking up his guest. (Of course he wasn't going to travel all the way to Heathrow for this bloke.)

The ferry had just docked when Merlin arrived and he patiently stood outside of the cab, hands stuffed inside his wool coat, face buried in his red scarf. For a moment Merlin thought that he should've brought a sign when he saw a man, as tall as he was, with a rather handsome face and expensive looking clothes. (Well, more expensive than Merlin could afford.) The warlock had a feeling that _he_ was his guest and beckoned him over.

"Are you Mr. Michael Jones?" he inquired, voice muffled by his scarf.

The man nodded and held out a gloved hand. "Yes, I am. You must be Mr. Pendle, it's nice to meet you."

Merlin shook his hand. "The pleasure's all mine. Come on then, Jones. The weather isn't the best to stand in," he said and opened the cab door for him.

The man slid in and Merlin soon followed after, closing the door behind him. The car ride back wasn't very exciting. The two chatted for a bit, exchanging information about Jones's stay and talking about the countries they resided in. Merlin learned that Michael had a sister and a niece that he loves dearly. And Merlin? Well, he had no one.

"Isn't Camlann the place King Arthur had his final battle?" Jones asked suddenly.

Merlin paused at that, memories of a fight he had missed much of, The Sword piercing his king, his friend dying in his arms. "Yes," he replied quietly. "I suppose it is."

Michael gave him an odd look before continuing. "You see, when I was still in school, I had found this book in the library about King Arthur and his knights. It was all very intriguing. And I cannot believe that I'll be staying in Camlann-isn't that just... _fascinating_?" he enthused.

Merlin pursed his lips, unanswering as he stared out the window solemnly. Jones continued to go on about what he had learned about Camlann and Wales from the books he'd read for the rest of their journey and the warlock beside him said nothing to discourage him. Soon, though, they arrived ad Merlin paid the cabbie before leading them down to the village. Jones looked around with wonder and Merlin couldn't help a small grin in amusement. He stopped at his home and unlocked the door, letting them inside.

It was a cozy design, the kitchen and dining room were mashed together as one and the sitting area was right beside it. It also contained a single narrow staircase that lead up to Merlin's and the guest bedroom. He gave Jones a short tour before bringing them back to the sitting room.

"Tea?" he inquired politely.

"Oh, yes, please," Jones replied, seating himself on the sofa.

Merlin nodded in acknowledgement and scurried off to the kitchen to place the kettle on the stove. "I apologize for the mess. I haven't much room for all my things," he said, gesturing to the stacks of books and papers scattered around the floor.

"Nah, it's fine. My apartment in Los Angeles isn't that neat, either," Jones dismissed with a broad smile.

Merlin couldn't help but return the smile and moved to grab two cups from the cupboard. The kettle whistled and the warlock removed it from the stove, pouring the hot water into the cups. He placed the tea bags into the dishes and stirred.

"Do you take sugar with your tea, Mr. Jones?" he asked.

"Yes please. Just one," was the reply.

Merlin added one cube to the American's tea before placing two in his own. He brought the beverages over to the sitting room and settled down into his armchair. Jones leaned forward to acquire his cup and huffed out a small laugh.

"This is all a bit domestic, isn't it?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood. "It's just that, I've only known women to prepare tea. It's a bit different when a man does it."

"I suppose that it where our views are different, Mr. Jones," Merlin interjected, sipping at his tea. "A woman can do whatever a man can, and a man can do what a woman does. There's really no contest."

Jones regarded him with an impressed raise of his brow. "You speak wise words for someone as young as you."

"And yet you utter such foolish statements for a man who assumes he's older than I," Merlin replied bluntly. "You know what happens if you do so incorrectly."

"Do what?"

"Assume," the warlock responded. "For when you assume, and incorrectly at that, you make an ass out of you and me."

It took Jones only a moment for those words to sink in before he burst into another contagious grin, chuckling with amusement. "That was very clever, Mr. Pendle," he laughed.

"I try to be," Merlin said with a wider smile, taking another sip of his tea.

"Don't you find it tiresome?" Jones asked after a moment. "You know, addressing each other only by our surnames. You _can_ call me Michael if you want. It seems more appropriate if we're going to be living with each other for quite a long time."

Merlin hummed. "Alright, Michael," he tried, not giving any sign that he was going to share his own name.

But Jones was expectant and he awaited his reply. "Well?"

"'Well' what?"

"What about you? Tell me your first name," he urged like an excited school boy.

Merlin hesitated at that, but he knew he had to reply. "Martin," he said, thinking of the name on the spot. "Er... yep. Mertin Pendle. That's my name."

Jones stared at him blankly for a moment and Merlin was afraid that he hadn't convinced him. "Martin?" the other man repeated.

"Yep."

"Huh," Michael said, seeming disappointed.

"What?" Merlin inquired, squinting.

"I don't know. It's just... not what I expected."

The warlock gave him an offended look. "And what _exactly_ were you expecting?"

"I... I don't know. Maybe something more exciting?"

Merlin scoffed. "And _Martin_ isn't exciting enough for you?"

"Apparently not!" Jones laughed.

"This isn't funny, Michael," Merlin scolded, though he couldn't resist a giggle.

"Actually, it really is."

The two continued to banter and tease one another, the beginning of a new friendship blossoming that night.

It had been two weeks since Michael's stay and Merlin started to get suspicious as to where the man disappeared to all the time. So one day, he decided to follow him.

He knew that he shouldn't, but curiosity nagged at him like a worried mother. He used a small bit of magic to create a petty disguise as an old man and inconspicuously trailed Michael. When he took a cab to the neighboring town (the one full of loud people and cars, he didn't like it very much), his curiosity had only increased.

Once in the next town over, Merlin followed Michael into a pub and watched him from the back. Jones sat at the bar and seemed to be listening in on a conversation going on at the table behind him. It was odd, really, because the men were chatting about some iffy sounding 'deal' at the port. Not only that, but they were dressed like those thugs in the James Bond films.

Soon enough, the men stood and paid for their drinks before sauntering out of the pub. Michael got up and began to follow them and Merlin's eyes widened. Was Michael a secret drug lord trying to steal _God-knows-what_ for his own profit from those two men who had just left for the port? No, he's just jumping to conclusions... right? Surely there was a better explanation for this funny business... But Merlin couldn't afford to follow after them anymore without the risk of getting caught. So he returned home with his thoughts swarming with ridiculous scenarios.

The warlock decided to stay up and wait for Michael in his sitting room, sipping at a cup of tea he had prepared for himself. When his house guest had finally returned, it was well past twilight and Merlin's imagination had wandered off into depths better left unknown. When Michael entered the sitting room, his eyes were wide like a deer's when caught by the headlights of a car.

"Martin! I was not expecting you to be up this late!" he said in surprise.

"Neither was I," Merlin replied patiently. "Decide to take a midnight stroll?"

Michael appeared relieved for a brief moment before his expression was masked by a simple smile. "Ah, yes. It was very refreshing," the man lied blatantly.

The warlock knew then that he was hiding something and could not stop himself from this outburst. "Are you a drug lord from the dark parts of the ghetto who traveled here to create an empire of druggies and take over the government to infect humanity with the influence of injections and consumables?"

"What?"

"What?"

Michael held up a hand to stop Merlin from speaking. "Wait, hold on... you think I'm a _drug lord_?"

"Well... more like emperor-but yeah," he replied.

The other man didn't know whether he should be amused or offended. "I am _not_ a drug lord," he assured.

Merlin blinked. "You're not?" at that, he received a shake of the head. "Oh... then what are you?"

"I'm-" Michael hesitated and sighed resignedly. "I am an undercover detective here on a case involving the murder of three American citizens. I was sworn to secrecy by my superiors, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt if you knew as well."

"So... those two suspicious looking blokes at the pub are somehow involved in your case?"

"Yes-wait," Michael paused again. "You followed me to the pub?"

"Uh... Nevermind that," the warlock dismissed. "So what happened after you followed them to the port?"

The detective smiled slightly at Merlin's childlike eagerness and engaged in his tale.

xxx


	3. Chapter 2

It became a routine between them. They would chat and get to know each other in the morning, Michael would go undercover at night, then come back before dawn to tell a tale of his adventure with his host. One day, they decided to go shopping at the farmer's market in the village and purchased quite a number of goods for merlin to cook with. They laughed and joked as they wandered through the town and back home when there was an odd sound (like a gun being fired) and a scream.

Merlin and Michael shared a look before running in that direction. There was a crowd surrounding the stand that sold homemade remedies and an old woman was sobbing beside a body sprawled on the ground. Michael shoved his way through and looked down at the corpse. Merlin was suddenly there and began to inspect it as well. The warlock then turned to the sobbing woman (who he recognized as someone he sometimes shared tea with) and gave her a sympathetic pat.

"I'm sorry for you loss, Mrs. Bree," he said sincerely. "But I need to know if you saw who did this to your husband."

She shook her head and sniffed. "But I don't understand why anyone would do such a thing... Charles never did anything wrong. Well-" she cut herself off, her tears decreasing and her brows furrowed. "He _was_ behaving a bit oddly this past week. Nervous and jumpy. He'd yelp in surprise whenever I entered a room. He looked as though he were expecting the devil himself to pop out from the fireplace."

As the woman said this, Merlin had picked up one of the remedies and tasted it, then gagging at the vile flavor. "This is supposed to be used for colds, correct?" he asked.

Mrs. Bree nodded slowly, obviously confused. "I'm sure that a cold remedy doesn't call for hallucinogens," he said before spitting to get rid of the taste. "Especially one so strong."

Merlin staggered slightly from the drug and Michael caught him. "How do you know?" the detective asked curiously, though obviously concerned for his friend's well being.

"When I was a child, my friend, Will, dared me to eat a patch of mushrooms we found in the forest," he replied, holding his head. "My mum got so mad that she threatened to send me to another kingdom."

Michael rose a brow at that last part but Merlin didn't seem to realize what he'd just said and snorted with laughter. "I caught the rabbits, Arthur..." he mumbled through his haze.

Mrs. Bree appeared to be utterly horrified. "My husband's put illegal drugs into the remedies?" she exclaimed, looking as though she were about to faint from shock. "But... why?"

"I believe that he may have been threatened, ma'am," Michael deduced. "By one of the drug dealers that I've been after. Apparently, Mr. Bree was unable to fulfill his duty to distribute the drugs among the common folk and was... exterminated."

Mrs Bree let out another wail. "Oh, Charles," she cried. "How could you?"

Michael pursed his lips, his expression grim as he laid Merlin (who was still hallucinating) on the ground. "I'll be sure to avenge him for you, ma'am. But I'm going to need your help with gathering some vital information."

Merlin slowly awoke and groaned in pain, his head hurt and the world seemed to spin as he tried to sit up. He squeezed his eyes shut and held a hand to his head, recalling the events that had happened previously. He remembered tasting the hallucinogen infected remedy before slipping into a haze of memories of his time in Camelot and with Arthur. The thought brought tears to his eyes and he covered his face with his hands. There was a knock and Michael entered the room and was holding a cup of tea.

"Hey," he greeted and set the tea on his nightstand. "Everything alright?"

Merlin nodded, wiping his tears. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little nauseous," he replied, only half truthfully.

Michael didn't appear to be very convinced, but he didn't make a comment. Merlin took a shaky breath before accepting his tea and sipping from it. For a moment, they sat in a companionable silence, only the sound of their breathing and Merlin's clock could be heard.

"So... what happened after I started to hallucinate?" Merlin inquired, trying to change the mood. "Did you find out anything?"

Michael nodded and pulled out a file that he had acquired, handing it to the warlock. "Yeah. Turns out Mr. Bree had recorded down everything to do with the arrangement he had with the dealers. We know where they had their exchanges and can try to track them down this way," he informed, watching him study the contents.

Merlin examined them intently before putting them down. "Alright, so when do we leave?" he asked.

Michael blinked. "Wait- _we_? What makes you think that you're coming as well?"

"I'm not just going to let you go off on your own. Besides, I want to help. Mr. Bree was a dear friend," he replied determinedly.

"I won't be alone," the detective interjected. I'll bring the police with me. And you're not coming. It's too dangerous and I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you-"

"The same goes for me! I can take care of myself just as well as you can, I'm not useless," Merlin argued.

"I don't want to take the risk of everything going wrong, damn it! I'm not calling you useless nor vulnerable, but you're one of the greatest friends I've ever had. If I got hurt and am unable to protect you when I need to-"

"That won't happen. Just... _please_. The last time I was left behind... I lost someone dear to me. I don't want that to happen again," Merlin choked, eyes watering.

Michael's expression softened and he sighed. "Alright. I'll think about it. But if everything goes to hell, you have to promise me you'll get out of there," he said.

Merlin nodded. "I promise," he assured with a small smile. "But you have to promise me that you will be carefull as well."

"I'll try," Michael replied and he patted his friend's shoulder. "Now get some rest. You've had a rough day."

"We all did," the warlock muttered before pulling the covers over himself. "Good night."

"Sleep well."

Two days later, Merlin was well enough to move around the house. He got up early and wandered into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. When he got there, though, he found Michael and two other men seated in the sitting room. His friend looked up at him from where they were speaking in hushed tones.

"Ah, you're awake," the detective announced. "Come over here, there's some people I'd like you to meet."

Michael gestured to the two men dressed very nicely (with a tie and all). One man was really tall and had brown hair and a barber's mustache. His green eyes seemed kind and welcoming.

"You must be Mr. Pendle," the man said in an English accent. "I am Detective Inspector Lewis from the Scotland Yard. We've come to assist Mr. Jones with his case."

The second man, who was slightly shorter and had dark blonde hair, nodded in agreement. "And I'm Commissioner Price of the North Wales Police Department. It's a pleasure meeting you," he introduced gruffly.

Merlin nodded slowly, obviously confused. "Er... it's nice meeting you, too. Um, tea, anyone?" he inquired.

Lewis beamed. "Ooh, yes, please. I'll have two sugars with mine," he said cheerily. "How about you, Commissioner?"

"I'll have to pass on your offer," the stout man answered. "Tends to give me a sort of indigestion."

Merlin then turned to Michael who gave him a shake of the head and the warlock headed to the kitchen. The three men then began to converse again as soon as he exited and he could hear their conversation clearly.

"Tonight, we'll set out for the first warehouse. I doubt that there's going to be anyone there after what's happened with Charles Bree, but we should look anyway, just in case," Michael explained, the other two nodding in agreement.

Merlin returned with two cups of tea, one for himself and the second for the Detective Inspector. Lewis thanked him and accepted the beverage before turning to the others. "What if we encounter them at the first one? How do you suggest we handle them?"

"Kill no one unless things get out of hand. Capture as many of them as you can and make sure no one escapes," he replied before turning to his friend. "And Martin, I want you to stay away at a safe distance."

"But-"

"No objections," Michael said sternly, gaze hard as Merlin huffed and slouched in his seat childishly.

"It's for your own good, Mr. Pendle," Lewis said gently. "We understand that you want to join us, but it'd be best for all of us if you lingered behind."

Commissioner Price nodded in agreement. Merlin didn't say anything and continued to sulk in a brooding silence. Michael's expression softened and he placed an apologetic hand on his shoulder. "It'll be alright," he assured.

Still, Merlin had a bad feeling about this, though he said nothing.

The next day, they set off to the first warehouse. It was early, the sun had barely risen and the fog was especially thick. Merlin sat in the back of Detective Inspector Lewis's vehicle, staring out the window sulkily. The ride was mostly silent, but there wasn't much to talk about. Soon, though, they arrived and Michael was the first to exit the vehicle and Lewis lingered behind.

"Wait five minutes," he instructed. "There's a torch and a handgun in the glove compartment. Try not to get caught."

And with that, the detective left. Merlin gaped in confusion. Was he just... given permission to leave? Grinning and mentally sending his thanks, the warlock moved to grab the weapon and torch from the compartment and began to count. Five minutes passed then Merlin quietly exited the vehicle and tiptoed across the rocky lot and towards the warehouse. He turned on his flashlight and searched through the fog. He heard voices from within the warehouse and recognized them as Michael's and Commissioner Price's voices. Merlin decided that it would be best for him to linger outside and search for clues.

The warlock pointed his torch down towards the ground as he wandered, looking about curiously. Though he didn't get very far before something pierced his neck and everything turned dark.

He had been drugged. _Again_. Merlin opened his eyes and looked around. He was in Camelot. And before him, was Arthur, alive and well. The king tousled his hair.

"What are you gaping at, _Mer_ lin?" he teased, grinning. "You should be working on polishing my armor."

"Well, _you_ should be working on being less of a prat," the warlock retorted, but he was grinning as well.

Arthur then turned to leave and Merlin tried to follow, but his feet were planted to the ground. "Arthur?" he called, but his king was too far to hear. "Arthur! Wait!"

The scene began to shift and the grass turned to trodden dirt and corpses. Arthur's dead eyes gazed into his own. He could hear someone's voice shouting at him. It sounded like: get up... get up, boy... G-

"-ET UP!"

A foot collided hard into his side and he yelped and groaned in pain. He peaked an eye open and saw several men looming over him with smug faces. Michael and the others were being held back by more scary-looking men. Merlin's head spun and he felt himself being lifted roughly off the ground and shoved into the wall. He felt something snap and it could have been his arm or rib-he couldn't tell. The men laughed sadistically at his pain. He opened his eyes again and looked over to where the men began to point their weapons at his friends and he saw red.

He heard himself slur a spell and his head was pulled upwards by his hair. "What was that, _boy_?" the man who had kicked him spat.

Merlin's eyes glowed gold and he chanted the spell louder and clearer. The earth shook and the wind howled, the windows shattered and a ball of fire was hurled towards the offending men. Merlin's magic buzzed within him and he felt it healing him and eliminating the effects of the hallucinogen. When he calmed down, all of the druggies were on the ground and unconscious. Michael and the others gaped at him, obviously surprised. His fear finally kicked in and he ran out of the warehouse, ignoring the shouts behind him as he ran home.

Obviously, he didn't run the entire way home as the detectives and policemen would surely catch up to him in their cars. He had used his magic again and returned home quickly. He gathered as many things as he could, packing them away. He would have to move again. Maybe this time he'll move closer to Avalon, closer to Arthur... Merlin continued to pack and failed to notice the footsteps climbing up the stairs and to his room.

"Why didn't you tell me?" a familiar voice said behind him.

Merlin dropped his things and immediately turned to the door. He bit his lip, eyes cast downwards. "I thought you'd hate me. All my life I've had to hide my magic and I was always afraid that I'd be found out and killed. Even by those I loved. Hundreds-no... _thousands_ of years I've been hiding and then you came along and became the greatest friend I've had in a long, _long_ time," he rambled, eyes shining.

Michael gaped, obviously surprised by his answer. "I could never hate you. Honestly, I'm still rather dumbfounded by the fact that magic _exists_ , let alone that you're a sorcerer."

Merlin wiped at his eyes and sat down, Michael copying him afterwards. "Promise me you won't keep any more secrets?" the detective asked hopefully.

The warlock grinned slightly at the familiar words and nodded, then engaging in a tale of his time in Camelot.

xxx


	4. Chapter 3

"Wait-" Michael interrupted Merlin's tale about the Questing Beast. "Arthur _died_?"

The warlock shook his head. "No, but he almost did. But I was able to save him. Again," he replied, a fond smile upon his face.

Michael watched his expression for a moment longer when he came to a sudden revelation. "You really loved him, didn't you?" he asked, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Merlin nodded. "I did. And I still do," he answered before his expression became determined. "But he will come back to me. I just have to keep waiting."

Michael smiled a bit before patting his back. "I'll go make some dinner," he said before pausing at the door. "Oh, and don't worry about the other officers, I've dealt with them already."

The warlock gave him a thankful look before standing and unpacking his bag. He felt relieved. His secret was out and he no longer had a burden on his shoulders. Quietly, he smiled to himself and laid on his bed. Perhaps he could take a nap. Just close his eyes for a moment...

 _He was back in Camelot, lying in the grass by a forest and looked up at the castle. Merlin sighed contently, breathing in the familiar scent of trees and dew. He felt the ground beside him sink as a shadow loomed over him._

"Enjoying yourself,

Mer _lin?" a voice asked and the warlock looked up at the source._

Arthur gazed down at him with a slightly amused expression. Merlin grinned and shrugged in response. "I might enjoy myself more if you joined me, sire," he suggested.

The prince chuckled before seating himself on the grass beside his manservant. They both gazed up at the clouds with a placid air about them, saying nothing as they silently delighted in the other's company. But after a quiet moment, Merlin felt his heart ache and eyes water as he realized that this wasn't real. Arthur leaned over and gathered the weeping warlock into his arms, brushing his dark locks from his face and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"You're not real," Merlin sobbed, clutching the other man and wished he could feel him again. "You're not..."

Dream Arthur stroked his side slowly, refusing to let him go. "I know," he whispered. "But I'll return to you soon. I promise."

And then the feeling of warmth and security from the arms of another faded as he warlock awoke.

It was not the first time Merlin had that dream. It happened almost every other night. Sometimes it took him longer to realize he was dreaming. Sometimes, he didn't realize it at all. But every time he awoke, his heart broke all over again and he forgets how to breathe as he gasps and sobs. Michael rushed into the room, after hearing his strangled cries, and hugged him tightly in an attempt to calm him down.

"Breathe, Merlin. _Breathe_ ," he instructed and soon the warlock began to relax and slumped in his friend's arms.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tears still streaming down his cheeks. He noticed it was night. "I usually deal with this on my own."

Michael pursed his lips, frowning. "You shouldn't have to deal with this at all. You need help, Merlin, this isn't healthy," he said, holding the other by his shoulders and gazing at him sternly.

"No one can help me, my friend. When you've lived for nearly two thousand years, you start to lose hope along with your mind. I've been alone for so long, Michael. I probably would have killed myself by now if it were possible-"

"Don't talk like that," Michael plead, eyes sad. "What good would it do if you were dead and Arthur returned, only to find that he was alone?"

"I don't know if he'll ever come back at this rate!"

The detective was taken aback by his answer and gaped. "What happened to your confidence? Just earlier you were so sure that your king was going to come back to you."

Merlin looked at him with eyes that obviously revealed his true age, a once vibrant blue dulled over the years. "I'm old and tired, Michael. I've done my waiting."

"Then promise me something, will you? Promise me that you'll wait a bit longer. I'll release you from this vow the day I die, alright? Wait until then," the detective plead.

The warlock hesitated, looking away briefly before his gaze returned to his friend. "I promise," he assured.

They didn't talk much after that and Michael left him alone so his friend could return to his senses. The evening remained quiet, even when Merlin came downstairs and shared some tea with the detective. The warlock felt quite a lot of shame and guilt for having such a breakdown in front of a friend he's only known for two weeks. And yet it felt as though they've known each other for longer. But now there was a tension between them and Merlin couldn't stand it. With a sigh, he stood.

"I think I'll go for a stroll," he announced before walking to the coat hanger, shrugging on his wool jacket.

"Don't stay out too long," Michael reminded in an almost motherly tone.

Merlin nodded before walking outside. The sun had just began to set and the orange sky glared down at him. He walked on across the damp field of grass in front of his home. He wouldn't stray too far, just far enough to the point where the cool air was too much for him to bear. He marched to the edge of a forest and stopped. He knew he was just running away from his feelings. He had been doing so for the last fifteen hundred years. Merlin sighed again. He's been doing that a lot, lately. Sighing, running, crying. And then this stupid case-wait a moment. The case? Ah, yes, he'd forgotten to ask about that. He wondered if they had captured all the men he had incapacitated for them. The responsibility of saving the lives of defenseless humans familiar to him.

But as he pondered such, he failed to notice a figure sneaking up behind him as he was given a whiff of chloroform and fell unconscious.

It was the third time Merlin was drugged and he was starting to think that villains have lost their violent touch in kidnappings. At least he wasn't hallucinating this time. But when he awoke, he recognized the place as an abandoned building not far from his village. If he can escape, he could make it home fairly quickly. Merlin shifted slightly, only to find that he was shackled to the wall with iron chains. _Iron_. Of course it was. He slumped against the wall and sighed. And then there were footsteps and voices. He listened and his eyes widened as one voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"You won't tell anyone about our deal, will you?" came an English accented voice. "Especially not my employer-"

"'S nothing you need to wor'y about, mustache," a gruff voice assured. "So long as we gets to pum'el the kid to a pulp 's a'right wi'h me."

A light turned on and Merlin flinched at the sudden brightness. He squinted to look at his kidnappers. To his surprise, the one who had been addressed as "mustache" was, in fact, Detective Inspector Lewis! Merlin gaped at this revelation, feeling a large amount of betrayal and curiosity as to why he did this. But he soon leanred why when the man regarded him with disgust.

"Looks like some'ne's awake," the man with shaggy hair and a dirty face leered. "Remem'er me?"

Merlin squinted harder at the man and recognized him as one of the men who had drugged him at the warehouse. He glared at him and the men laughed. The man then gave him a hard kick to the side and Merlin cried out in pain.

"You'll never get away with this, Detective," the warlock grit out.

"But you don't understand, Mr. Pendle. Of course I will," Lewis scoffed. "Because there's no justice for monstrous _freaks_ like you."

Merlin continued to glare, even as the detective left and the man who kicked him began to bend, bruise, and cut parts of his body that he would rather prefer left alone. But even through the warlock's feeling of rage and betrayal, he felt despair. Would Michael even be able to find him? (And oddly enough he felt a huge sense of deja vu-hasn't this happened to him before? It probably has, but that doesn't matter at the moment, he's being beaten to a bloody pulp! But do not fear, a hero will come and save him! Probably... Hopefully...)

Michael paced, eyebrows furrowed in a worried frown. Merlin had been gone for quite a long while now. It was almost midnight! That's it, he was going to go look for him and bring him back. He shouldn't had left in the first place! Michael angrily pulled on his coat and stalked out the door, following the path he saw Merlin take hours ago.

Soon, he got to the point where he friend must how stopped at since it came to the edge of the woods. He looked around seeing no sign of him anywhere. Merlin wouldn't have gone into the woods-had he? Michael took a step towards the trees when his shoe connected with a white cloth on the ground. He took a good look at it before gingerly lifting it off the ground with gloved fingers. There was a stain of something on the front of it and he glared at it. But then when realization hit him, his expression turned to that of a worried one.

"Merlin's been kidnapped," he deduced, pocketing the evidence and rushing back to the cottage.

Quickly, he used the telephone and dialed the number for the station. He filed a missing person's report before running back outside and to the main road. There, Michael was able to hail a cab and went to the first place he thought to search. The warehouse. He knew that Merlin was not going to be there, it was too obvious. But he needed clues. He soon arrived and immediately went to retrace his steps. Bodies. He remembered them. One was... there, and there and... missing. Someone was missing. They captured nine men, but there were ten. Michael closed his eyes as he tried to remember what he looked like. Shaggy hair, dirty face... The man who had beaten his friend. The detective scowled at the memory before storming out of the warehouse. It was time for another round of interrogations.

It must have been hours since he was kidnapped. Merli couldn't really tell anymore after being thrown head-first into the ground so many times. But he fought against the pain to hang onto his life. The raggedy man who had continued to torture him so had left to take a break. Blood trickled down his face and his sides ached more than his shackled wrists. Where was his friend? Was he coming for him? Would he find him?

Michael had threatened every single drug dealer in their custody into giving him information and was only able to get one location. The abandoned building near Merlin's village. He and a few others rushed there to save him.

 _I'm coming my friend_ , he thought.

The man came back, this time with an iron bar. He proceeded to poke and prod at whatever seemed to gain a reaction and smirked down at Merlin.

"It hurts, don' it?" the man sneered.

The warlock refused to answer. The man yanked his head back by pulling on his hairs and spat in his face. "I ASKED YOUS A QUESTION, BOY, AN' YOU'D BETTER ANSWER IT," he shouted, punching him in the stomach.

Merlin wheezed in response, coughing and spluttering. He still didn't answer-possibly a foolish decision. His torturer scowled and turned, looking through a selection of objects on a table. "That's it," he growled. "I'm done with you."

The man revealed to him a long curved knife, gleaming and newly polished. He stepped closer to Merlin and the edge got dangerously close to his throat. But before the knife could pierce his skin, the door burst open and several people entered the room, armed with guns pointed at the man with the knife.

"Put the weapon down, sir," came a familiar voice.

Merlin's eyes widened and he felt relief flood through him. It was Michael. The drug dealer man sneered and brought the knife upward, looking as if he were going to stab Merlin, but he was quickly shot in both kneecaps and he crumpled to the ground. Michael rushed over to his friend as the other officers apprehended the villain, and unchained him. Merlin slumped forward into the detective's arms and allowed himself to fall unconscious.

Michael sighed, letting out the breath he didn't realize he was holding before he and another officer carried him to the ambulance truck. He was relieved that Merlin was safe and his case was now closed. Though he couldn't help but feel guilt about getting his friend involved. Michael got into the back of the truck with his friend and laid back, resting his eyes.

Two weeks later, Merlin recovered and told the police that Detective Inspector Lewis was behind his kidnapping.

A week after that, the fiend was captured and arrested.

xxx


	5. Epilogue

FEBRUARY 23RD, 2016 -

Even after Michael returned to America, he and Merlin stayed friends. The detective found someone and married her, ending up having two sons who got married and had children of their own. When Michael got too old to chase down the bad guys, he retired to Wales with his wife. There, they stayed with Merlin who was more than happy to take care of them.

One morning, at a frosty and chilly February dawn, they decided to walk along the old shores of Avalon, Merlin looking out wistfully towards the direction he knew the Isle of the Blessed lay. The three of them continued to walk along the rocks and packed sand, until Merlin saw something curious laying on the shore. He quickened his pace, leaving the old couple behind him, puzzled. As he got closer, he walked faster and faster, soon he was running. He could gradually see bits of chain linked together and a red cape embroidered with a golden dragon. He saw tufts of blonde hair and a pale face. It was his king. It was Arthur.

~

Merlin and Michael had helped carry Arthur back to the cottage and into his bedroom. They removed his armor and washed the dirt from his face before laying him on the bed, covering him with a blanket. Merlin could barely breathe or think as all of this happened. That familiar face of the man he loved-a face he hadn't seen in nearly 2000 years-was there, in his bed, in his home. He could feel tears though he couldn't cry. Michael and his wife left the room with solemn, sympathetic expressions.

After a moment of simply staring at Arthur, Merlin crawled into the bed slowly and carefully, afraid that the other man would vanish if he jostled him too much. He got under the covers and wrapped himself around Arthur's body so that his face was pressed against his chest. The king was surprisingly warm and Merlin embraced the feeling. A few tears finally slipped down his face and he soon fell asleep.

And what he didn't notice was how Arthur's arms unconsciously wrapped around his shoulders and his face turned to bury itself in Merlin's hair. It was then that they knew it would be alright.

 _ **fin.**_

A/N: okay so this story wasn't as great as I had wanted it to be. I'm sorry that you had to go through all of that. But I hope that the sequel (if I make one) will be better. (:


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